


Two Acorns and an Oak Tree

by pastelswitchblade



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Tumblr, porn blog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 12:47:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5457038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pastelswitchblade/pseuds/pastelswitchblade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Why did you follow me?”<br/>“That’s an easy answer. Because you’re beautiful. Would you like some tea?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Acorns and an Oak Tree

**Author's Note:**

> I blame cheap wine.

There. There. And there again.

It was Thorin’s lucky night as porcelain skin flashed across his dashboard like stars on a cold night. His favorite porn blog was at it again, posting pictures of flawless pale thighs peeking out from knee high striped socks in all manner of positions. The captions were shameless, dripping in seductive innocence and an excessive amount of emojis. Thorin was in love.

By all means, Thorin was not a porn blogger. He didn’t follow anything other than art hoe aesthetics and indie music, but one night with a six pack of beers and too much time to himself had him following all manner of filth to be discovered in his morning tumblr check. He unfollowed most immediately in horror, but one hung on. His finger hovered over the unfollow button for nearly a week after the incident, but he could never bring himself to do it. Now here he was, gleefully addicted to the nearly daily updates from “two.acorns.and.an.oak.tree.” He never showed his face, but little “two.acorns” was absolutely ravishing from the neck down. He was expanses of perfectly white, no blemishes in site save for the cutest freckles littering his shoulders and chest. His tummy was just a little round, like a puppy, and his ample thighs were to die for. Even his dick was cute, in a way Thorin never really expected a dick could be. Thorin was in love, and content with keeping his dirty little secret to himself in the dead of night and the warmth of morning coffee.

That is, until one day, his happy little world came crashing down around him.

The day started like any other, terrible until Thorin got his hands on some caffeine. The view from the dining room was blinding white, a ruthless winter wonderland. The hardwood flooring in the apartment was like ice under his feet, so he indulged and let the heater run for almost half an hour. He deserved it, today was the start of a new term at university and if his class load was any indication, he would need as much indulgence as he could get. His pile of textbooks and assigned reading towered over his bookbag, and he groaned as it stared back at him like a jilted lover. He turned the heater up a couple of degrees and went to get dressed. It was going to be a long, long term.

By the end of his first class, Thorin was tired. By the end of his second class, he was exhausted. Even lunch seemed difficult as his friends chaotically outlined their winter break adventures and conquests. By his third class, he was ready to accept the sweet respite of death as his only true friend, collapsing into an empty aisle seat near the back of the lecture hall. He let his head fall with a small thump onto the tiny desk attached to his chair. Craving some sort of silver lining, he braved a quick check to his dashboard. His eyes crinkled in a weak grin as he spotted another set of socks appear under a post of Van Gogh’s “Sunflowers”. It was a full shot of two.acorn’s legs, from toe to matching panties. The caption merely read “~My Little Schoolboy Secret~” surrounded on both sides by an army of angel and heart eye emojis. Thorin chuckled to himself, finding new strength as he pocketed his phone and straightened in his seat. He closed his eyes for a moment, lulled by the low din of shuffling papers, footsteps, and laughter. He might have fallen asleep like that if not for a harder-than-polite kick to his outstretched shin.

“Excuse me, _sir_ , can I please get by?” The words shot at Thorin in sassy, bold, underline italics and his eyes shot open. A small man, about his age or maybe younger, stared down at him from the aisle. His eyes and words spoke louder than his appearance. He wore a plain white t-shirt over ripped jeans, only a leather jacket over it, and calf high boots (Thorin was convinced they were steel-toed, from the small bruise forming on his leg) to match. He looked freezing, his small button nose and round cheeks flushed bright red. He rolled his eyes, and gave Thorin a scathing look. “Today, please?”

Thorin scrambled to his feet, stepping into the aisle to let the boy pass. “Yeah, sorry, sorry,” Thorin grumbled, shuffling his feet. “Thank you,” the boy said, though he looked perturbed that now standing, Thorin looked down at him. He stomped his way to the furthest seat from Thorin and flopped down in a huff. Thorin rolled his eyes. Diva.

“Me too, me too!” A whirlwind of a woman shot past Thorin, scooting into a seat next to the boy with a devilish grin. The boy scoffed. “There’s plenty of other seats in the hall, _Belladonna_ ,” he spat each syllable of her name like a curse, but she just pouted back at him.  

“Aw, but I can’t annoy you nearly enough from any one of those!” she sang. Thorin sat back down, fully prepared for another long, long class.

The boy sighed and pulled out his phone. Belladonna scootched closer, blatantly reading over his shoulder. “Eeewwww,” she whined, “You’re still running that thing?”

“Get off my dick,” the boy grumbled.

“Gross, do you still get like twenty dicks a day?”

“It’s thirty, thank you, and you seem overly interested for someone with a vendetta against porn blogs.”

Thorin smiled to himself as he shamelessly eavesdropped. He was in her shoes for a long time before he discovered—

“Two acorns and a what? Oh my god, what kind of a username is that?”

Thorin’s heart lept into his throat. Was Diva Boy #1 a fan of his love too?

“It’s _mine_ , thank you, and it’s hilarious.”

Thorin’s heart dropped to his feet and rolled out into the aisle. He watched as it bounced down the steps to rest by the professor’s feet just as he started his lecture. The rest of the class past in a blur, passing through the five stages of grief in two painful hours. His heart finally jumped back into his chest as he felt another kick to his ankle and a high pitched giggle rang through his ears. “Seriously, man, you think you would have learned by now,” Diva Boy slash possible current love of his life scoffed. In a moment of utter brainlessness, Thorin’s arm shot out to grab his wrist as he passed. The boy whipped around, soft dirty blonde curls like snakes bouncing around his death glare. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“What’s your name?” Thorin whispered, cheeks flushed.

“What’s that, Mumbles?”

“What is your name? ...Please.”

He crossed his arms. “And why should I tell you that?”

“His name’s Bilbo Baggins!” Belladonna shrieked over his shoulder. “And his number is seven-oh—mph!” She was violently muffled by Bilbo’s small hands as he pushed her into the aisle and down the steps in front of them.

“See you later, Mumbles!” he shouted over her muffled protests.

Thorin sighed into his chair, his heart a wrecked mess. _Bilbo_.

 

Having a face to the body and name to the face did not make anything better. If anything, it made Thorin’s life much, much worse as he scrolled his way down tumblr. Once met with a familiar tummy or pink nipple his face would screw up in a mix of lust and devastation as he remembered the insolent scoffing that went with it. His trauma did not go unnoticed as he forced it upon his friends. He whined dramatically into Bofur’s shoulder for a good five minutes one lunch before Bofur could decipher what Thorin was saying.

“Ah, Bilbo, the little guy? Do you like him?” He guessed. “He’s my lab partner for chemistry. He’s not really as bad as everyone thinks, though he’s always on his phone… Want me to introduce you to him?”

Thorin looked up at him like Bofur had just suggested his hand meet a woodchipper.

“Wow, okay, I won’t introduce you. Why are you so damn upset?”

“Because my breakfast is ruined! My sweet, sultry prince is ruined! My life is ruined!”

Bofur sighed, shrugging Thorin off of his shoulder. “You know, man, I tried…”

 

Thorin dreaded Mondays and Wednesdays, the one day where he would be faced with the bitter reality of his desire. He sat as far from Bilbo as humanly possible, going so far as to hide in the dark corners of the hall pretending to read something on his phone until Bilbo found a seat and then purposefully put himself as far from that as possible. It was a decidedly tedious and painful process, but Thorin could manage it four hours a week.

What he couldn’t manage was three hours on a Friday night in Bofur’s tiny studio apartment with a red solo cup in his hand and Bilbo gesticulating wildly to a fellow classmate about five bodies away. His weekend party outfit was torturous. A knitted sweater about three sizes too big for him hung loosely off one shoulder. His tight black jeans look painted on, hugging curves Thorin knew all too well. He nearly didn’t come to this party despite Bofur’s groveling after stumbling across a photo featuring those very same jeans and the pink panties underneath, the caption reading “Happy Party Hopping!” in bold letters. But it was the subtitle “on the hunt for good dick” tastefully written in strikeout that had Thorin reluctantly pulling clothes onto his body.

Bofur clamoured over to Thorin and nudged him violently with his shoulder. “I see you,” he mused, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“You see what?”

“I see you, seeing him.”

“Seeing who?”

“The man with the voodoo.”

“I am not playing that game again tonight, Bofur, it was only funny once.” Thorin took a large gulp of whatever nonsense Gloin filled his cup with tonight. It was sickeningly sweet, but did the job. He was starting to feel like someone was slowly filling his skull with warm tea. “Besides, he’s mean,” Thorin whined quietly.

Bofur scoffed and took matters into his own hands. “Hey, Bilbo! _Bilbo_! Yes, you, who the fuck else would have a name like Bilbo? No, don’t flip me off, just come over here.”

“What the hell are you doing?!” Thorin whispered frantically, searching for an escape route. Bofur just laughed and clapped a firm imprisoning arm across Thorin’s shoulders. “Hey, you! Glad you could make it,” Bofur said as Bilbo sauntered over to them. Bilbo gave a weak smile and turned towards Thorin. Thorin found the bottom of his now empty cup suddenly fascinating. “Have you met our Prince of the Palace? Ah, he’s not really a prince, but he might as well be. We just call him that because his dad’s rich as balls. You should see his place!”

“Sounds interesting,” Bilbo chuckled.

Thorin flushed. “That’s enough, Bofur,” he grumbled.

“We have met actually,” Bilbo replied with a sly grin. “Mumbles here is in my Religion in Society lecture. He doesn’t really know the meaning of _move._ ”

Thorin considered himself on the masculine end of the spectrum when it came to gay men, but all he wanted in that moment was to cry into a glass of Pinot Noir and never be seen again. Bofur laughed loudly, undeterred by the sharpened glass in Bilbo’s voice. “He is a bit gruff, isn’t he? I’m sorry if he’s given you any trouble. Oh look, jello shots! You kids stay here until I get back! Which will be never!” And with that, Thorin’s lifeline was gone. He was stuck treading dangerous waters, his head swimming in the sea of Bilbo’s eyes. What color was that? Green? Hazel? Some sort of deadly mix of the two?

“You’re staring.”

Thorin’s empty cup became immediately interesting again. “Sorry,” he whispered.

“You’ve been avoiding me, Mumbles.”

“No, no that’s not true.” Staring at the bright purple remnants of whatever he’d been drinking was starting to make him feel drunker, and a little bolder. He knew he got a little rowdy when he was truly smashed, so he prayed the feeling wouldn’t get much stronger.

“Yes, yes it is. I’m not blind.” Bilbo crossed his arms and pursed his lips. Thorin braced himself for the worst. “I was even hoping to get your name.”

“My...my what?”

“Your name, you oaf. Seriously, are you just drunk all the time?”

“No, I’m not!” Thorin protested unconvincingly as he was currently pleasantly buzzed. “I’m not, Thorin.”

“You’re not Thorin?”

“No!”

“Then who are you?”

“Prince of the Palace!” Thorin giggled, throwing his arms out wide and nearly decapitating a few innocent bystanders. The feeling had gotten much stronger and the tea in his skull had started sloshing around a bit.

Bilbo sighed, but the faint picture of a smile danced across his lips. “Okay big guy, I’m still not sure if it’s your name or not, but I’m going to call you Thorin. Got it?”

Thorin nodded violently. What had he been drinking?

“So, Thorin, you want to tell me why you’ve been avoiding me?”

“So pretty,” Thorin mumbled.

“God, I swear it’s like talking to a two year old.” Bilbo stepped in closer and tilted his head to the side. “What was that, Mumbles?”

From this angle, Thorin could smell a faint whiff of cologne on Bilbo’s neck. It was a warm mix of musk, pine, and mint that had Thorin taking an involuntary step closer.

“I said you were pretty,” he whispered into Bilbo’s ear. Bilbo scoffed. “Tell me something I don’t know,” he huffed.

“I knew you before you were Bilbo,” Thorin whispered. He faintly recalled how ominous that sounded before Bilbo’s cologne got stronger, everything went fuzzy, and eventually, went black.

 

Thorin knew he was hungover before he opened his eyes. He could feel it in the churn of his stomach and the headache crawling up his spine and worming its way into his grey matter. He groaned, the light streaming in from the window creating a fiery red landscape behind his eyelids. What the _hell_ did he drink last night? He squeezed his pillow tighter and tried desperately to go back to sleep.

That is, until his pillow hit him.

Thorin shot up like a bolt, a wave of nausea and pain slamming into him as he finally opened his eyes. There, snuggled into the covers and looking extremely cross, was one Bilbo Baggins.

“What the hell was that?” Thorin cried, rubbing the shoulder that he assumed Bilbo hit with a metal bat.

“That was for making me limp you all the way back to your apartment! And this,” Bilbo reached out to smack Thorin on the shoulder he wasn’t cradling, “Is for dragging me into bed with your sorry blackout drunk ass and making me your cuddle thing for the night!”

Thorin gaped. “Oh my god...I didn’t...We didn’t...did we?”

“No, you dipshit. But your cuddles were very...enthusiastic.”

Thorin hid his face in his palms and groaned. “I am so, so, so, sorry.”

“Yeah, you better be,” Bilbo turned away from Thorin but made no move to exit the bed.

“What can I do to make it up to you? I’ll do anything, really, I’m so sorry.”

“Tell me what you meant.”

“What?”

Bilbo made his voice gruff and furrowed his brow. “I knew you before you were Bilbo,” he said, stroking an imaginary beard. Thorin patted his chin shyly. “If you want to make it up to me, tell me what you meant by that. And don’t go calling me pretty, or yelling that you’re the ‘Prince of the Palace’ which I am _sure_ all your neighbors heard yesterday. Tell me the truth.”

Thorin thought about lying. But seeing Bilbo in his own bed, looking up at him with a little less fire in his eyes and a little more anxiousness, he sat down and decided to tell the truth. He took out his phone, and with a few quick taps made it to his followed list. He handed his phone to Bilbo, and waited for his life to once more come crashing down around him.

“What the hell does this mean? What am I supposed to be looking at?” Bilbo snapped.

“Just scroll down.”

“sultryjazztunes, theofficialarthoe, the queenofcarvenstone, twoacorns— oh. Oh.” Bilbo went very quiet, the quietest he’d ever been, and Thorin glanced over. Bilbo was beet red, staring down at his phone with his lips parted just slightly in shock. In the streaming morning sunlight, he really was beautiful, but Thorin figured now wasn’t the best time to say that.

Bilbo coughed loudly, flipping his hair out of his eyes and tossing the phone back to Thorin. “So what?” He said indignantly. He still looked anywhere but Thorin and the tips of his ears were bright pink. “Is this supposed to make me like you more?”

“No, not really…”

“Well, it doesn’t!”

“Okay. You don’t really like me that much anyway. I figured this would just be your trump card. Now you know, Thorin Oakenshield is a big old pervert. Use it well.” Thorin pocketed his phone and stood. “You can stay as long as you like,” he continued, starting out of the room without looking back. “There’ll be tea in the kitchen if you want it. Thank you for taking care of me.”

“Hey, wait! I’m not done talking to you!”

Thorin sighed. He turned in the doorway, leaning up against the frame.

Bilbo looked angry, but still pink. He picked at his nails and searched Thorin’s comforter for words.

“Why did you…Why did you follow me?”

“That’s an easy answer. Because you’re beautiful. Would you like some tea?”

“Wait! Just wait. And listen to me.” Bilbo flushed red again, and Thorin couldn’t tell if it was his stomach or his heart doing flips in his gut. “I notice when people avoid me. I really do. And it bothers me. A lot.”

“I’m sorry,” Thorin sighed again.

“It’s okay. I just…I was kind of surprised when you did it. You asked me my name and everything so I thought that you liked me or something, and Bofur told me all about you and you seemed like a nice guy, but...I don’t know. I thought I was too mean.”

Thorin gulped dryly. It was definitely his heart doing flips now. “You weren’t that mean,” he chuckled. “I can handle it.”

“Can you?”

“Can I what?”

“Handle it. Handle me. I know...I know I can be mean sometimes but it’s mostly just because I’m stressed or not caffeinated enough and people take it the wrong way. I just end up being snarky to people I like. And I know I’m not exactly who I am online, but I’d like to be. All bubbly and cute and warm.”

“What are you trying to say?” Thorin asked softly. He felt like if he was too loud, he might scare this new Bilbo away.

“Well, I’d like to...I like you, is what I’m trying to say. And if you like me like that,” he gestured wildly at Thorin’s pocket where his phone sat, “and if you can handle me like this,” he gestured wildly at himself, “then...then I think you should date me.” Bilbo pouted indignantly.

Thorin was dumbfounded. He was happy, first and foremost, giddy on the words Bilbo was pouring into the chilly room, but utterly stunned. He wasn’t sure what was the right thing to say, so his first question came out a bit like, “What does that yes how?”

“Date me, Thorin Oakenshield.”

Thorin grinned, and felt his cheeks grow hot. “Okay.”

“Okay? Then...then kiss me.”

“Okay.” Thorin quickly crossed the room and gave Bilbo a soft, short kiss.

Bilbo’s eyes lit up, but he kept pouting. “Do it again.”

“Okay.”

“Another one.”

“Okay, DJ Khaled.”

Bilbo finally broke into a wide grin and pulled Thorin down on top of him. Tea would most certainly have to wait.


End file.
